Wanting This, Resisting That

You know those times when you find yourself waiting for something?

Perhaps you're waiting for someone to reply to a message, hoping a conversation goes well, looking forward to the weekend or wanting something that's been hanging over you to finally get sorted.

Sometimes it's ourselves we want to change. We'd like to feel more confident, less anxious, more patient or more at ease. We want to stop overthinking, get rid of a feeling we don't like or change something about ourselves that seems to be getting in the way.

There's how things are now, and then there's how we'd like them to be.

We make plans and change things all the time, and much of that is simply part of living. But alongside it, there can be another movement that's easy to miss. We reach towards the things we want, try to hold on to the things we like, and pull away from the things we'd rather not experience.

You might notice this while you're sitting on the sofa waiting for a message. You reach for your phone again and perhaps, if you pay attention, there's a slight leaning forwards in the body, a tightening in the chest or belly, as though some part of you is reaching towards the thing you're waiting for.

Or you're lying in bed wanting to sleep. You notice you're still awake, wish you weren't, and the body tightens a little against being awake.

It can happen the other way too. You're having a lovely afternoon, everyone is getting on, you feel relaxed and you don't want it to end. Almost without noticing, something that was simply enjoyable becomes something you want to keep.

We tend to think of wanting and resisting as something that happens in the mind, yet the body can give us a very immediate sense of both. Wanting may come with reaching or leaning forwards, while resistance might be experienced as bracing, contracting or pulling back. Even holding on to something pleasant can have a subtle tension of its own.

You can notice this with something as simple as the breath.

Sit quietly for a moment and become aware of your breathing. An exhalation leaves and there's a small pause before the next breath comes. If you leave it alone, the inhalation arrives by itself.

You don't have to reach for it, and when it's ready to leave, you don't have to hold on to it or push it away. The breath comes, stays for a while and leaves in its own time.

Listening can be similar.

There are probably sounds around you now. Something outside, a clock, the heating, voices in another room or the familiar sounds of wherever you happen to be.

We usually recognise them almost immediately. A car going past, a bird outside, someone talking. We may like one sound and wish it would continue, while another starts to irritate us and we find ourselves waiting for it to stop.

But before all of that, there's simply hearing.

The sounds come to us. We don't have to reach out to find the ones we like, hold on to them once they're here or push the others away.

It can be interesting to notice whether the same thing is happening with the rest of our experience.

There may be a thought, a feeling or a sensation somewhere in the body. Something pleasant may appear and we want a little more of it. Something uncomfortable appears and we'd rather it went away. Often the movement towards or away from what's happening begins so quickly that we barely notice it.

So what happens if, for a moment, we do notice?

There may be a tightening in the belly, a reaching forwards, a holding on or a pulling back. None of it needs to be changed. The tightening can be here. The reaching can be here. Even the wish for something to disappear can be here.

We're simply noticing what's happening.

This doesn't mean we stop having preferences or leave things as they are when they need dealing with. If you're cold, put the heating on. If there's a conversation you need to have, have it. If something feels good, enjoy it.

We're looking at something a little closer to home: what happens in us when experience isn't quite the way we'd like it to be, or when it is and we don't want it to change.

You may even notice this while you're reading. Maybe something in the idea of allowing everything to be here brings a sense of ease, and there's an immediate wish to hold on to that feeling. Or nothing much happens and you wonder whether you're doing it properly. Maybe something uncomfortable is still there and you'd really rather it wasn't.

All of that can be noticed too.

The next time you find yourself waiting for something, holding on to something you enjoy, wishing something would go away or wanting to be a slightly different version of yourself, you might notice what's happening in the body.

Is there a reaching towards something, a holding on, a tightening or a pulling away?

And what happens when you don't ask any of it to change?

For a moment, the reaching doesn't need to stop. The holding doesn't need to stop. Even the pushing away doesn't need to be pushed away.

What happens when all of it is allowed to be here?